Sherlock Story
Forgotten Memories, Chapter 155
*Thanks so much for reading. Please do not forget to comment.
A disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to BBC along with the talented writers Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss; along with the amazing Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch. No money was made. The story, however, is my original thought and comes out of my overactive imagination. Other characters introduced are also mine.
*****. *** Warning drug reference T rated ****. ****
… Drawing or almost drawing I…"
"No trouble ever got fixed late at night," he said. "Midnight is for regrets."
~ Holly Black, Red Glove
Sometime Later
Current Time
He frowned as he opened his eyes. His frown deepened, as he smelled cologne. It was not the kind that he wore. It was expensive and subtle. It was the kind that Moriarty wore.
… Moriarty.
His stiff limbs informed him that he had fallen asleep in the chair. He glanced at the window. It must have been either very late at night, or very early in the morning. It was unclear which one. After a few more blinks, his eyes focused. He looked straight ahead with surprise, as the last of the sleepiness left.
For a second, a brief second, panic tried to rise in Sebastian. It took his mind slightly longer to clear. He was slightly hung over. He glanced around and repressed a relieved sigh. He realized that he had one of his trusted men to dispose of the wine glass and wine bottle before he fell asleep.
Moran gazed ahead again and looked at Moriarty. He must have just come back to London. The room was dimly lit with only one light. He sat in a chair that was pulled so that it was positioned directly in front of Sebastian. Half of Moriarty's body was dimly lit, the other half was hidden by the darkness. However, the white of his eyes could be clearly seen. It gave the Consultant Criminal a frightfully eerie appearance.
Moriarty was sitting in the dim light, in his personal room. Moriarty never came to one of his men. They always came to him. While he was still wondering as to the meaning of it all, Moriarty spoke.
"Did you distract Holmes?" Moriarty asked simply. His voice seemed to have deepened.
Sebastian felt like cringing at the ghostly apparition that was speaking to him.
"Yes sir. We distracted him so that you could complete your work. We made sure the men understood that no one was to physically injure him." Moran sat up more alert now, and crossed his legs. He put on his best innocent face. He hoped that he was not overdoing it.
Moriarty looked into Moran's eyes. Sebastian looked back without saying a word, frowning, or flinching. Sebastian body did not betray the fact that he wanted to do exactly that.
Moriarty stood then, he walked to the door, before turning and saying casually, "Good night Seb."
With those words, Moriarty was gone. Sebastian's face betrayed a puzzled look, as he wondered after his retreating boss. He watched the half-lit silhouette as it retreated, and then was slowly absorbed into the welcoming darkness.
The Following Day
Current Time
Lestrade walked in slowly. John was down at Mrs. Hudson. She had cooked a little food and had asked John to carry it up for her. John had said nothing past a plastic smile and a polite nod of greeting.
Sherlock was dressed in his pajama and a tee shirt. It was unusual for Holmes not to be in a suit even when he visited early in the morning. He was careful not to frown as he walked further into the room and sat. Sherlock did not look up. He wordlessly moved over, as one hand pulled the dressing gown back on, which had fallen off one shoulder.
The Detective Inspector rocked back then forth on his heels once, before taking a seat next to Sherlock.
There was a moment of silence. "I thought I'd pop in."
Sherlock gave a slight nod before returning to his imitation of a statue.
Lestrade made no demands of Sherlock. He did not even request that he look at him. He spoke.
"John is keeping most everything quiet. Me and, believe it or not, Donovan, are doing the same."
Sherlock looked at him for the first time with questions in his eyes.
"If you ever want to talk. Not to a Detective Inspector, but to your mate, I'm ready." Lestrade got up without another word and walked to the door.
Sherlock voice stopped him at the door. "You fought through London traffic at the busiest part of the day, just to tell me that." It was not a question.
"Despite your propensity to be a pain, I'm of the opinion that you're worth the effort." Lestrade looked into the younger man's eyes as Sherlock's face contorted into unknown expressions.
He turned to leave; again, Sherlock's voice stopped him.
"There's something in your hand."
Lestrade looked into his hand then raised his eyebrows. He had forgotten. Lestrade put something on a table next to the door.
Sherlock looked at the case file with interest.
"Triple Homicide," Lestrade said simply.
Lestrade noticed the slight tilt of Sherlock's head. A faint sparkle shone in his eyes.
"All three victims were killed with an antique gun, soft nosed bullet, in locked rooms. There were no guns found in the rooms. There were no visible ways to enter or exit the locked rooms. All the victims were killed within an hour of each other on opposite sides of London."
The corners of Sherlock's lips turned up into a small smile. Lestrade saw the familiar fire kindled in the eyes of the younger man.
Sherlock looked at Lestrade. He studied him for a minute without comment. Lestrade was used to Sherlock's stares, he allowed him to.
After a minute, Sherlock looked away again. Lestrade turned to leave.
He heard Sherlock's voice over his shoulder as he walked down the stairs. He cleared his throat to push down the emotions that Sherlock's one word had caused. A smile born of emotions came on his face, as he exited 221B Baker Street.
Lestrade's smile grew wider as he walked toward his police car. It was the first time that he had ever heard Sherlock call him - Greg.
Every day I see you looking in.
I'll be the smoothest thing to touch your skin
You're longing to be loved, but you're alone.
Your longing makes you shiver to the bone ~ Emiliana Torrini Gun
Three Days Later
Current Time
The doorbell rang. Despite Mycroft's men being outside, John put his revolver in the back of his waist.
He cautiously opened the door. He exhaled relieved when he saw who it was.
She walked in quietly and stood. John engulfed her in a hug and kiss to the cheek. John always had a way of making her feel welcome. She smiled at him.
"Glad to see you're in one piece." John looked at Irene. She looked every bit as elegant as normal.
Irene did not answer but looked up toward the stairs that led to 221B. "How is he?"
John looked up the stairs. "He has been quiet for three days."
Irene raised an eyebrow. The words quiet and Sherlock did not seem to belong in the same universe, much less sentence.
"I think that he has recovered more memories, but he has not said anything. I think it's from the time that the terrorist kidnapped him. Whatever the memories are of, they seem to be unpleasant." John frowned now.
Irene put a knowing arm on John. She looked down and thought. "During the time that he was away; the time that you thought him dead, he would have moments like this. That time away was dangerous, and mentally and physically exhausting. Injuries were commonplace. I had to learn how to patch him up and send him back out. He never complained. He knew his actions made those he cared for safe. He would never use the word care, of course, but that is what it was. He has people he care for, but you John; he missed you terribly. He had gotten used to you."
Irene turned to look into John's eyes.
"In-between assignments, he would have… dark moments." She smiled. "I once caught him looking at something in his hand. It was a worn picture of the two of you. He ran his fingers over it, as if it was the most precious treasure. When he noticed me looking, he put it away. Embarrassment had flashed on Sherlock's face before his normal bored expression had returned. He had a picture of Mycroft as well. He doesn't know I'm aware of it."
Irene became silent for a moment. "He has people that care for him, but he needs you John. You're more important to him than anyone is. You always will be, I think."
John eyebrows knit together but he did not deny the truth of her words. He had made peace with that truth long ago.
Irene smiled warmly and held onto John's hand. "I don't mind. You make each other better. Loving someone does not mean you have less love to give to the next person. It often means you have more, if one's willing to give it, of course. You've taught him how to care and love John, and he's taught me."
A serious look came on John's face "We used to not like each other very much, didn't we. I find myself rather fond of you now."
"And I, you, John Hamish Watson."
John smiled affectionately. He held Adler's gaze, an understanding past between them.
There was a comfortable moment of silence.
"How did you know that he was in trouble? Did Mycroft tell you?" John asked curiously.
Irene looked away from John and glanced up the stairs. "It was his text. He had gotten to the point that he sent a quick text every day, as we had done before. I normally would not worry unless I did not hear from him for three days, but this was different."
Irene looked into John's eyes now. "He text me after days of silence, but he misspelled a word. I finished what I was doing and was on a flight as soon as it was possible. I can only stay for three days."
John smiled, "You can tell a lot by his text, can't you." John looked away and started to walk up the stairs. He knew that Irene would follow.
John knocked on the perpetually opened door. Sherlock did not turn around. He was at the window staring on the street below. It had been four day since he was rescued from Anderson and the drug dealers.
Today was the first day he had changed from his nightclothes and put his familiar suit back on. At least he was looking like himself again; except for fading bruises to his face.
Both Irene and John entered the room. They both stood on the outer edges of the room as if they were intruding.
"I'm going to pop out with Mrs. Hudson. We're picking a few things up at Tesco." John observed Sherlock for a reaction; none came. "I'll pick up milk, and tea," John thought, "and those biscuits you're fond of."
There was no reaction.
John sighed. He nodded toward Irene with his head. She looked nervous for a moment. It was as if she wondered if she would be rejected. The look quickly left. She raised her chin and walked in with purpose.
John knew that he should leave and give them privacy, but he wanted to make sure that Sherlock would react well. He had not wanted to see anyone but his brother, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade since the…incident. John also had to admit to himself that he was curious.
Sherlock did not turn or acknowledge anyone. Irene continued to walk toward Sherlock; she looked at him and slowly took Sherlock's hand. John watched to see what his friend would do. Sherlock never said a word. He did not agree, he did not protest. He continued to look straight ahead. John was about to turn away and leave when he saw it.
Sherlock's large hand wrapped around Irene's smaller hand. He squeezed her hand but did not let go. He never stopped looking out the window, but continued to hold Irene's hand. Irene said nothing. She turned her head from Sherlock's face to the window. She looked out the window as well.
John backed out the room and walked down the stairs toward Mrs. Hudson's flat.
A/N: Enjoy your rest. Lots of Love.
Fun Question: "In which canon story, was a wealthy man found one morning dead from a gunshot wound to the head. There was no evidence of anyone entering or exiting through windows or door to the room. There was money on the table where he was killed. This man played cards and gambled casually.
Stop reading now unless you want a hint.
Ronald Adair was the murder victim's name.
Choices:
1. The Adventure of the Dancing Men
2. The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist
3. The Adventure of a Study in Scarlet
4. The Adventure of the Empty House